Deducing a picture
by tediouslydull
Summary: Their flat is just how Sherlock left it, except for that one disturbing 8 by 12 inches framed thing.


That picture. He hated it. He felt exposed by it. Still, he didn't dare taking it away from John. Clearly it meant a lot to him. But why hang on to it now? And why had he placed it there in the first place? Sentiment? John could have chosen other pictures. There were other pictures of him. Few, yes, but still. So why this one? Immediate answer: because they were on it together. And then there was a second possibility Sherlock didn't want to think about, because this one fact made the whole damn thing such a pain: Sherlock was smiling a genuine smile on it. There was no denying that.

The first time he looked at it, three days earlier, before he texted John that he was alive and heading for home, he almost overlooked it. Most of the time, he doesn't need a second glare at something. This time however, his eyes stuttered and his brain needed to re-examine the information and have a second look. Somehow somebody managed to take a picture when he had a weak moment. It was quite a shock to Sherlock to know that his face could make such a genuinely expression. He remembered that day, of course. John bended over the body and stating something cleverer than the obvious. Which was exactly what caused that caring glare and smirk on his face. If they'd took it two seconds later, it would've been gone. But they didn't, obviously.

What did John think when he saw it? How much had he deduced from it? Because it told a lot. In fact it told everything. Maybe he just interpreted it as a friendly smile? Because John smiled like that a lot. But then again, he knew Sherlock didn't. And his best friend probably could tell that that facial expression was in fact not faked and that the smirk on his face was sincere and caring. So that left Sherlock with this: John knew he cared. And he cared that Sherlock had cared. Hence displaying the picture.

John was on the couch reading the newspaper before he noticed Sherlock was acting strange and was casually throwing glares at the only picture in the flat. He coughed. "Lestrade spotted it amongst the usual dead body shots. He figured I wanted it. It comforted me. Kind of sums our life together in one shot, doesn't it? I'm glad I'm able to look at the real thing now, though. Do you like it?" –"No," Sherlock slowly answered. John's face twitched. Sherlock knew his words would hurt, but he couldn't act in front of John.

"Why?" John insisted, staring at him. "I'm smiling". John laughed a little. "People tend to do that on pictures." "Not if the picture's taking without their knowing," Sherlock hissed. "Yeah, like you would smile then. That's why I kept it, it's spontaneous, not faked. It shows you appreciated me." "Of course I appreciate you, John. Why do you doubt that. Moriarty even spelled it out." "You mean that I was your pet?" Sherlock smiled at the memory, John offering his life for him. _But then again, people do get sentimental about their pets._ "No, the burn the heart out of you. He was right, I have a heart. I care about people who care about me - even if they've seen the worst of me - if I want to or not." Sherlock sighed. "And Mycroft was right, caring is not an advantage." Sherlock thought of Moriarty again, when they both had been on St. Bart's rooftop._ You're friends will die if you don't. "John". Not just John, everyone._ John interrupted his memory. "Then why bother coming back if Mrs Hudson and me are such an obstruction?" "Didn't you listen, John? Because I care. I'll always return to you. I'd do anything for you, John. And that scares me. That's beyond rational." Sherlock smashed his fist on the table, which made John jump up. "And my world is all about rationality."

John was upset by his words, because he now knew Sherlock hated him. Hated him, because he hated to be attached to people. Hated him, for something John couldn't improve, couldn't change. Sherlock looked at his friend and saw the sad and disappointed look on his face. He grumbled. "John, I… I'm sorry, can't help it. Sociopath, remember," Sherlock smiled briefly. John looked him in the eye. "No." "What no?" "You're not a sociopath." They both were silent. "Psychopath?" Sherlock tried, hoping John really didn't went the way Anderson did. "Bloody hell, no. Would you like that? Being compared to Moriarty? You are nothing like him. You are not insane and Asperger's doesn't make you a freak." This made both of them remember what happened two days ago. When Donovan had said "Welcome back freak", John lashed out at her immediately. Shouting she had betrayed Sherlock. Sherlock calmed him down by stating Donovan couldn't help lacking more intelligence as to simply think beyond the obvious. Then he asked, a bit louder so that Anderson could hear, if she was pleased with her new body building boyfriend. "Boyfriend? What's he going on about?," Anderson inquired. That made John smirk and that was all Sherlock ever wanted.

"I am not?" Sherlock waited before whispering "You called me a machine." "Yes, because I was too stupid to figure out your real intentions at that time." Sherlock smirked. "Everyone would've been fooled." "You wouldn't. I should have known better, though," John whispered. "What kind of friend am I." John dug his head between his hands. He hated this. The space between them. It always felt like they were mile apart, even if Sherlock was just an inch away, his mind was always somewhere else. Somewhere John couldn't be. A place John couldn't even try to grasp.

"John?" John really didn't want to respond. Then he heard Sherlock swift on the couch. Before he knew it, he felt an arm around his shoulders as Sherlock sat next to him. "You are the only one that I'm capable of calling a true friend." John made a sound that could be defined as a whimper. The warmth in his stomach was definitely caused by Sherlock's touch. Why did he have to touch him. They never touched. Well only on rare occasions, when Sherlock was drugged or injured. Never spontaneously. Never. And this glowing had to be the reason. John wanted to sink into the table. Sherlock put his hand back, being a bit confused that psychical contact didn't work. He thought it was what people do when they wanted to comfort the other. "John, please, look at me." John took his breath and figured he could manage. He could hide how Sherlock made him feel. He looked into his mate's eyes. Green, questioning, brows raised. He felt his stomach twitch again, avoided eye contact for a second and then took his courage and looked again. "You should have someone of your own calibre to talk to, you wouldn't be bored so often. Someone like Irene," John whispered and immediately regretted his words. He had been envious of Irene and now he had just spread it out in the open. "The Woman?" Sherlock scoffed. "Please, John, she was intelligent, yes, but frankly a bit boring. A one-trick pony. And quite superficial. She only cared about the idea of me." Sherlock looked at the ceiling and then back at his friend. "You on the other hand, take me as I am. I do realize normal people find me… annoying, childish, dangerous –" "Don't forget arrogant," John kindly added. "—yes, and can't stand me for it. But you, you love me anyways. Guess you're about the only man alive capable of that." Sherlock realized what he had insinuated when John eyes started sparkling. All he could do was avert his own and so he found himself gazing into the living room. This time, John grabbed all his courage and took hold of the man's hand. Lightly touching him at first and than intertwining their fingers when Sherlock opened his hand. Both men were breathing heavily, trying to stock away the feeling swelling up in their stomachs. "I want another picture," Sherlock said, squeezing John's hand. "You really want me to put it away? You find it that horrible? It's not a disadvantage, Sherlock. It makes us stronger, because I would do anything for you too." John said as he was rubbing the side of Sherlock's thumb. Sherlock grinned. "No, that one can stay, if you really like it that much. I just meant, I want one where I don't have to smile at your back. That is, if you wouldn't mind." John's face lit up at that. "Yeah, it is a bit ridiculous, isn't it. A smile like that is worth to be returned."


End file.
